Antique or Junk
too many misgivings
about misplaced plate settings,
tarantulas as house varmints.
Days frittered away in back exercises, icings,
taxed by the simplest matter.
A ticket taker asks for more than I have,
dressed down for indifference,
and, then, a waitress turns her back,
a trucker does not slow.
Antique or junk?
My name on officious papers,
drawers full of disallowed requests,
The personal tricked, picked to pieces.
Frank Praeger © 2012